- Ten years ago, I was pregnant with my second child; my first daughter
- Ten years ago, I was on maternity leave
- Ten years ago, I lived in a completely different house
- Ten years ago, I was twenty-five years old
- Ten years ago, my son was three years old and had just started Précoce (after nursery but before preschool)
- Ten years ago, I had never written a story nor a poem (if it wasn’t for school)
- Ten years ago, I drove a small blue car
- Ten years who, my best friend thought it was best to break up our friendship. We reconciled in 2011, and she broke our friendship up again this year
- Ten years ago, my music collection was only a third of what it is today
- Ten years ago, I didn’t chat with random people
- Ten years ago, I didn’t cuss
- Ten years ago, my English was way worse than it is today
- Ten years ago, my grandma was still alive
- Ten years ago, I was happy
- Ten years ago, I had no idea that one of my biggest wishes would come true… But beware what you wish for…
- Ten years ago, I had no friends
- Ten years ago, I lived in a messy house and watched TV all day long
- Ten years ago, I was still a child
- If I had known then what I know now… But I didn’t. No regrets.
Maybe life was easier ten years ago. I was healthier, physically and psychologically. I was more naive. More alone. Oblivious to the things around me. I was educated but uninterested. I lived in my bubble, and I was happy that I didn’t have to work. I liked being home and spent hours on end with my sister on the phone. I bought tons of movies to watch. I can’t imagine that life again, although it was a lot less complicated. I like being a mom of three. I love work; especially the job I have now. Writing became a life-breath for me. I am a lot more active and interested. I am opinionated, and if I can be totally honest, I think that my views are interesting too. I am still shy and an introvert. I am hiding in plain sight, making it look as if I am not hiding at all. The 2018/Cathy is a lot more fun than the younger version. Just ask around. What I miss is the carefree attitude I had back then (and my long hair). Every non-fiction post I share these days is accompanied by that nagging voice asking “who cares?!” It makes me wonder why I doubt myself so much? I have a right to claim my place, just like everyone else. Why am I this sensitive and emotional? Why can’t I accept compliments? Why do I feel the need to diminish my successes, my qualities, my oddities? I have an answer, and I don’t have one. The answer lies in my childhood trauma. But is there not a time when we can’t (or shouldn’t) blame our childhood for our damages? Then again, the childhood years are called formative years for a reason.
Would you like to go back to where you were ten years ago?
My own personal answer is: No. Everything I ever did, every choice and every decision, brought me here. And I wouldn’t want to change anything right now. (But a little financial security would be nice too… It’s not nice to worry about money)
Where were you ten years ago?